“Me? No. That’s not in my blood. I meant to give you a few days to calm and try again. Perhaps take you to Hiroshima Peace Memorial, play the tour guide. You’re less likely to admonish me when we connect on an intellectual level.”
I smile meditatively. “You know me well.” Seconds later, melancholy peppers the air around us as I say his name. “Ryoichi, I’m so sorry.”
A few beats pass. “You comprehend my reasoning now, I gather?”
Throat tight, I swallow. “Yes, I’m dreadfully sorry about your mother.”Damn, Ry Pie, your lack of social graces makes you the worst person during times like this.
“Eat. Eat, Ry. Meals are to be shared over laughter and contentment, not heartache.”
During our dinner, Ryoichi and I find common ground again. I listen, waiting for the right time to share my story. Ryoichi tells of how he crashed a dump truck into the office of a yakuza at war with the Tatchans. It’s so similar to Tatsun’s story. I then share how I didn’t allow the riots between Blacks and Mexicans to spill over into my classroom about a decade ago.
As we eat, somehow, Ryoichi ends up on my side of the table. He tells a story that puts my beloved “Red Dragon” to shame. One marked with blood, gore, and glory, all because yet another yakuza family had attempted to place drugs on the streets of his turf. Osaka Tatchan and his affiliates are against that.
Using the talk about drugs as my opening, I try to explain the LA gang scene and how it overflows into the schools.
“So, you stopped racial riots and a riot between two colors in your class.”
I chuckle. “Not colors, but kids claiming and wearing colors. Blue so happens to be my favorite color, by the way, so I felt good putting those two students in their place.”
“Ahh, so you are capable of fending for yourself?”
“I told you that, Ryoichi.”
I segue into bullies, telling him about the smaller boy in my class. How he’s different.
“The other boy called him out of his name.”
“Called him out of his name?” Ryoichi's face is puzzled.
“Insulted him,” I say, nodding. “Yeah, it’s not the first time. And I didn’t think much about it when I went to step in. Thenbam!”
Ryoichi only asked me the name of the student who slugged me about a thousand times before I laughingly convinced him that the kid was generally harmless. Unless provoked.
“So why were you covered from head to toe atA Touch of Essence? Why the trench coat? The sunglasses at night?” he asks.
I wave my hand under my healed eye. “I had literally just been punched by that kid, and I couldn’t stand my girl up. It was an important night for her. So, of course, I wore sunglasses. And I always dress like that. I don’t like attention. Remember, painfully shy. The night you met me in the dress—”
“The night I stole you.”
“Yes. I was just dressed like that to meet,” my voice is barely audible, “my book boyfriend.”
“What?”
“Ugh! My book boyfriend! Tatsun, ‘The Red Dragon.’ ” I snort, but it’s not my usual snort-laugh. This is much more pitiful. “I just wanted to have the fantasy. I hired a book boyfriend. I dressed like that for him.”
Ryoichi’s stare is steady. “So, it was all a mistake. An accident?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Ryoichi claps, and a maid comes to the table. He whispers in her ear. She nods and leaves the room, closing the screen behind her.
“What was that about?”
“I asked her to find Umito and have him let our guest go.”
“Our guest?” I sit up straighter, tilting my head.
“Yes. The man from Greece. I did not kill him.”